The League of The Lion
by scribe4hire
Summary: AH. During the darkest and most frightening days of the French Revolution,The League of The Golden Lion, risk their lives to rescue the innocent. But will love the Lion feels for Lady Esme, cause probs that lead to them all meeting Madame Guillotine?


SM OWNS ALL THINGS TWILIGHT

AN; To all my wonderful SR fans, please do not panic. Just having a few plot problems. This is just something to help me clear my head. Now I know this is VERY different. But I hope you will give it a try.

I want to thank all of my fabulous Tweeties, who have pre read for me, and listened to me moan! You know I love you all. But this story is for JuleWhatev, the one who's known me longest and loves me anyway! Lol

_THE LEAGUE OF THE LION _

_THE BASTILLE PRISON, PARIS 1794 ESME POV_

_Tired of the King and aristocracy living a life of excess and hedonism funded by their blood sweat and tears, the people of france have risen in a rebellion overseen by "Citizen Voltpierre" and the "Committee of Public Safety". The first act of the "republic's" new Governing body, was to punish the tyrannical aristocratic ruling class for crimes both Real and imagined against the republic. The method of that punishment…death …at the hands of Madame Le Guillotine. And whilst she claims her fair share of victims, Madame La Guillotine, Citizen Voltpierre and his committee , are constantly being thwarted by "e leon de oro" THE GOLDEN LION and his league of fearless men, who will risk their own lives to save the innocent_

_ESME POV_

I did not need a physicians training, to know that the deep, rasping, phlegm filled cough which shook my father's weakened body at ever more regular intervals, was death heralding its arrival and tightening hold upon him. He had never been a well man, fever caught from his wet nurse when he was a child, had left his lungs weak and prone to infection. However the youth and fresh air he had used to treat them in the past had been taken from him, leaving him to suffer what I knew to be terrifying agonies. He bore them in relative silence however, such was his desperation to spare my mother and I further torment in our already traumatic situation.

The people in France had risen in rebellion against the excesses of King Louis XVI and the aristocracy, which had left the ordinary common people who were funding their hedonism, desperate and destitute. But thanks to the inflammatory rhetoric, scaremongering and growing sense of paranoia being whipped up by Citizen Robespierre and his "Committee of Public Safety", the peoples lust for the justifiable spilling of "blue aristocratic blood" had spiraled out of control. Madame Guillotine was working overtime, punishing anyone with even the slightest hint of aristocratic blood in them, for crimes both real and imagined against the "Republique". My father Comte, Henri De Losec, had inherited a large farming estate from his father before him. But far from being a tyrant who lived high on the blood and sweat of his workers, he was known for being a kind and fair man. Laughed at and ridiculed for being too soft if anything.

That had not stopped him, my father and I from being "tried" before the Committee of Public Safety and sentenced to death. It was now as we faced our most desperate hour, that I thanked my dearly departed mother for bestowing upon her, a rebellious nature and a truly angelic singing voice. After a furious row, she had fled from home to pursue her career on the rapidly growing stages of Paris. Her subsequent fame and rumoured romantic engagement to James D'arcy, Voltspierre's right hand man, had saved her from father and I's fate.

Following our conviction, secured by testimonies detailing our cruelty, given by a seemingly never ending stream of the tenants who farmed our lands. People my father and I had often gone out of our way to help, but who were now living in fear of masters far more vicious and cruel than they had sworn we had been. My father and I had been thrown into one of the long, low cells crammed with fellow convicts, all awaiting their date with Madame Guillotine.

To see these grand ladies and gentlemen, reduced to fighting like animals over the scraps of often inedible food and stale water that were thrown into the centre of the room twice a day, by the guards who could not hide their pleasure at seeing "how the mighty had fallen", was a truly harrowing experience. It was true that I was, thanks to an accident of birth a "lady". But my parents had always insisted that Isabella and I were never overly spoilt. We were ladies, who knew how to behave, but we also knew how to look after ourselves, we could for instance bathe, dress and carry out basic chores, unlike many of the pathetic creatures who I was forced to listen to weep and wail.

I was no heroine, I did not want to die and the thought of the my brief meeting with Madam Le Guillotine, filled me with a fear so great that it often felt like my heart would burst from my chest such was the speed that it would beat. But I decided that whilst I was still able, I would carrying on trying to fulfill the role that my mother's premature death, not long after Isabella's birth had forced upon me. That of carer for my father. Hopeful that God in his mercy and despite my situation would reward my devotion and sacrifice of a life, husband and children of my own, with a relatively fast and painless death and reunion with the mother whom I missed so much.

They came three times a day with their lists. And I must admit that there were times, when I envied the ones whose names were called. At least they were freed from the gnawing terror that gripped those of us left behind. A terror, that saw us snapping and snarling at each other like animals and doing and saying things that breeding and expectation would never let us do normally.

"Is there nothing you can do, to stop his wretched coughing girl? It is hard enough to sleep as it is, without…" a sour faced Baroness barked at me from the farthest and driest corner of the cell.

"Well Comptess, I am certain, that being granted the chance to rest in a place where the dampness flows less freely along the walls, and the rats are less likely to clamber all over him, would benefit him greatly." I snapped back over my shoulder as I tried to concentrate on helping my father take a few sips from our water ration, in the vain hope that it would ease his discomfort.

"You will remember your place girl!" the old woman blustered in response to my insolence.

"Ladies please! Look out of the window…dawn has already broken on yet another wretched day! It will not be long before they come and transport more of us to our eternal sleep. Maybe if you asked nicely, they may push you up the list a little…" a man I did not know wheezed from the centre of mass of sweating and shivering bodies slumped along one wall.

And so…it began again, another day of being torn between wanting more than anything to live, whilst also being just as eager to die. As I was already on my knees, I decided to offer up a prayer hoping against hope, that it would be heard amongst the multitude of other desperate and frightened voices begging for a miracle…a savior.

"Dear Lord, I too am asking for an angel to visit me, but not for rescue. I am resigned that it is too late for that now…please forgive my weakness, for I know I should not doubt your power. But I am tired…so very tired. Please just grant me a visit from an angel, who will remind me of what it is like to feel safe and loved, as he speeds me to my eternal rest…" I whispered softly, as I heard the heavy footsteps of death, approaching once more.

Striding into the centre of our cell and drawing himself up to his full, but far from impressive height, Citizen Marcel, the man responsible for drawing up the death lists each day surveyed us all as he dramatically withdrew his list from his pocket. The odious little man could barely disguise the savage pleasure he took from our fear and distress.

"The Former Bishop De Lille, The Former Comptesse Ruelon…" the list went on and on, the heartbreaking final moments of pleading or last whispered words of love as the damned were bundled out of the door tore at what was left of my heart, over and over.

"The Former Marquis De Grenoble…and eldest son" Marcel sneered.

"There they are…"one of the guards Marcel had entered with growled, surging forward and elbowing his way through the pitifully inadequate, protective wall the Marquis' two teenage sons had attempted to create around him. The Marquis' eldest son was a small, pale short sighted boy by the name of Yves. He was barely fifteen.

"Papa! No Monsieur…he is an old man,…take me instead…" Yves younger brother, who I think was called Paul, begged Marcel as he tried to pull his father back from the guards grip.

Without even being ordered, the guard a tall lean youth, with a curl of blonde hair which refused to stay beneath his cap, swung the butt of his rifle towards the side of Paul's head. The sound as the hardened wood met flesh and bone was sickening. With a whimper the young boy staggered backwards, blood running freely from the wound on the side of his head.

"Paul!" the elderly Marquis cried, struggling pitifully within the vice like grip of the guard who was bundling him forward and out of the door.

Without thinking, I moved from my father's side to Paul's, attempting to stem a little of the bleeding with a hastily ripped piece of my skirt.

"If this great new Republic of ours, condones the beating and murder of innocent children…then I for one am glad, that I shall not be spending much longer as a part of it!" I snarled.

"Esme…" my father moaned.

"Well it seems that you shall not be forced to suffer much longer…take her…" Marcel snarled. The other guard that had accompanied him into the cell, an umsmiling bear of a man yanked me roughly to my feet. And I was glad of his assistance, the speed at which my heart had begun to beat and my thoughts began to whirl, had caused my legs to become weak and the room begin to shimmer and spin. It seemed as though God had heard my bitter prayers…my time had come.

"Citizen Marcel…she is a young and foolish girl…overwrought, she knows not what she says…please Monsieur…show mercy…" my father wheezed, raising unsteadily to his feet, his every movement robbing him of what little breath his poor battered lungs still held.

"Do not distress yourself sir…Your daughter is destined for a far better place…" a young looking priest, who must have entered behind Marcel and the Guards said suddenly. Fear and shock must have clouded my brain, as despite being mere moments from my death, all I could think of was how it was such a waste that a young man blessed with such a beautiful face and voice had given his life to the mother church.

"Mercy you want? Oh very well…I am not a heartless man Baron Du Losec, that is why I have made provision for you and you…to accompany your headstrong and treason spouting daughter on her journey, to the far better place the father speaks of…" Marcel sniggered.

"Have faith Baron…Lady Esme…your journey is only just beginning…" the young priest said as my father and I were dragged towards the door and out into the corridor. Turning my head to look at him as he followed me out of the door, I couldn't help but notice, that the long black cassock and hat he wore, seemed only to highlight the depth of his jewel like green eyes which were filled with compassion, but also…

"Have Courage Madame…" he whispered opening the bible he held in his hand, to reveal a small card bearing the illustration of a golden lion.

"We are here to help you both…but we must move quickly…" the bear like guard who had yanked me from the floor hissed, as he tucked my stunned father beneath his large arm, and half carried him down the long narrow corridor in the opposite direction to the direction those called before us had taken.

"But how? I did not even truly believe the story of this mythical Golden Lion…savior and protector of the innocent to be true…" I stammered as I hurried along side the young priest. Too afraid to look behind me as he did, to check whether our ruse had been discovered. I was convinced that my heart which throbbed and pounded so noisily in my chest, not to mention the sound of my heels on the stone floor, would betray us. The young priest gave me a brief slight smile that only served to enhance his looks.

"The stories are true well enough Madame… the golden lion and his league are no myth. As to how, I fear that is a story, saved for a time when we are not in such a hurry…" he said kindly.

We emerged into a small courtyard, my father and I blinking rapidly and painfully at the sudden assault on our eyes, by the sunlight we had been denied for so long. Standing to attention before us was a cart containing three rough wooden coffins.

The bear of a guard was already helping my father climb into one.

"Forgive me Madame…" the guard said as finished with my father, he reached down and gripping me firmly by the hips, swung me back up onto the cart. The sound of a commotion stirring from within the prison walls, caused the hunched figure perched on the drivers seat to turn to us. His face was not pleasant to behold if truth be told. Weathered, lined and dominated as it was by a large hooked nose. But his eyes, which locked with mine for the briefest of moments, were of the deepest blue and were filled with so many conflicting emotions that it made me dizzy to look at them. And yet, I was reluctant, almost pained to look away. As although his anxiety was clear, there was a strength, a calm, a security in those fathomless blue pools, that drew me towards him, as a moth would be drawn towards a flame.

"I will try to make your discomfort as brief as possible my Lady…" he growled lowly at me.

"I am grateful sir…for that kindness…and all you…"

"We must go!" he snapped suddenly, causing the bear like guard to press me faster and harder into the coffin than I could tell he intended. And whilst I was terrified by the darkness and lack of air inside my box, I found myself strangely comforted by the memory of the driver's low gruff growl and piercing eyes, which echoed and flashed around my head, stilling both my racing heart and thoughts.

It seemed God in his wisdom, had sent me the most unlikely looking angel. But I thanked him for it with everything I had.

_**League of the Lion**_

_**CARLISLE POV**_

"The Baron Du Losec and his daughter have escaped from the prison…orders are to check every cart that comes through…" I heard the harassed looking gendarme that had spent the last ten minutes trying to force the cart of the road as he rode along side us, bark at the rag tag bunch of soldiers, scattered about one of the towns many checkpoints.

Damn, we had delayed too long! It would mean Edward and Emmett's ride to the coast would be harder and faster than I had hoped. Could the Baron in his poor state, withstand such a journey? Could the lady Esme? The cause of our delay. The cause of my jumbled and dangerously unfocused thoughts. It was true she was a lady in every sense of the word, her beauty, poise and grace even after being subjected to such terrifying and spirit destroying conditions, shone through with a blinding radiance that had almost taken my breath away. But it was the brief look we had shared, that had caused my heart to begin to misbehave almost painfully in my chest, and my brain to loose focus. Though the fear, I had seen strength, understanding…

"Show us your papers…" a greasy haired, almost toothless gendarme growled suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts.

"They're all in order citizen…" I rasped.

"Still need to see what's in them coffins…" he said.

"All of 'em?" I replied roughly.

"Get on wiv it…" he spat.

"Alright, but Madame Guillotine's work is not very pretty…" I croaked as I lowered myself slowly down from the driver's seat, mindful to maintain my ruse of being afflicted by a slight hump back.

As I levered the lid from the coffin of the late Baron Deconville, I offered up a silent prayer begging for forgiveness for the blasphemy I was about to commit, and one begging the Baron for forgiveness that I had not been able to spare him his brutal and unjust fate. I could only hope that he would countenance my use of his remains if he knew it would save others from his fate.

"_DEATH TO THE ARISTO'S…DEATH TO THE ARISTO'S…" the gathered crowd of young and old had chanted over and over, their faces alive and twisted with malicious delight and undisguised hatred, as they surged towards the small cart containing four more victims for Madame Le Guillotine. One of whom had been the Baron. It both sickened and frightened me, to see just how tight a hold the blood lust created by Citizen Voltpierre and his ironically named "Committee for Public Safety" had not only on the people of Paris, but France as a whole. _

_I abhorred the arrogance, excess and shameless disreguard that certain sections of the aristocratic class…my class, had for the ordinary working people, whose blood, sweat and toil enabled them to live in comfort and luxury. Change was long overdue, but common sense dictated that change born out of fear, fed by paranoia and watered by the blood of innocent men women and children, would never be able to establish the deep, far reaching roots it needed to grow and blossom for furth_er generations.

_With a dignity and courage I was not sure I would posses if faced with his situation, the baron had alighted the steps of the guillotine. The prayer I could see him mouthing to himself, had been drowned out by the screams and shrieks of the crowd, and the ominous thunder like drum roll, that heralded the arrival of Madame Guillotine to the stage where they would engage in the grotesquely intimate, but horribly public dance of death for the blood crazed masses. _

"_VIVE LE REPUBLIQUE!" had come the triumphant yell, as the Baron's head was lifted from the basket for the masses to see._

_A few words in the right ears declaring with almost maniacal passion my loyalty to the Republic and a few coins_ _dropped in the right palms, had seen the Baron's remains loaded into one of my three empty coffins._

It seemed that my forward planning, to have a decoy body incase of inspection like this one had not been an over cautious notion after all.

"Ere you go…catch…" I chuckled tossing the Baron's head towards the gendarme.

"Heh, what? No…take it back…what…" he stammered horror stricken as he tossed the head back towards me. " Get out of here…close that up…and get out!" he raged, the only colour remaining visible in his face a light green of nausea.

"You sure? The other one is even prettier…" I crowed, taking savage delight in his distress. It seemed that God was with me, as I soon on my way.

League of the Lion

"Where you stopped?" Edward demanded as I brought the cart to a halt in the clearing where we had arranged to meet.

"Aye, I fear that within the hour, the town and this country shall be alive with searchers. There must be no more delays, you must ride hard for the Coast…" I said seriously. The light of adventure and challenge that I saw illuminated in my younger brother's eyes worried me.

"You know where to go? The boat shall be at the coast ready to take you, Emmett, Jasper and our charges back to England. But you must make all speed to make the tide…"

"Fear not. We shall make it." Edward said as he attempted to keep his horse level with where I was still sat on the carts drivers perch. Edward was a serious and committed member of the league, who had shown his ability to think fast and clear as well as his bravery and prowess in a fight. But his youth gave him an arrogance and recklessness that I did fear at times.

"There are to be no stops to see Maria…"

"Yvette…" he countered.

I sighed as I observed him sitting astride his mount tall and strong, resplendent in the dark frock coat and hose he favoured for riding.

"How you were able to carry the bible, without it bursting into flames in your sinful hands I don't know." I chuckled softly.

The pained wheezing of the Baron Du Losec diverted my attention from my worries. Emmett and Jasper had freed the baron and his daughter from the coffins. They were both pale and the Baron looked heartbreakingly fragile as Emmett helped him mount the animal they would be sharing.

"I would…very much like the chance… to thank the Golden Lion…for not only my, but my father's life." The Lady Esme stammered as she gulped greedily at the water Jasper had offered her. Her dress was stained and torn, her face smudged with dirt and her hair falling to her shoulders in unrestrained curls, but to my tired eyes she was a vision. Her face was ashen with fatigue both physical and mental, but still she tried to remain poised and strong for her anxious father. Oh my dear, I have shoulders strong enough to bear your burdens and arms ready and willing to hold and comfort you. I thought

I would not be so quick to thank me my fallen angel. You have a hard and dangerous ride still ahead of you…I thought to myself as I watched Jasper help her up onto his saddle. My heart once again began to spasm, but this time in pain, at the thought of something happening to…never seeing the Lady Esme again. My fatigue must have been greater than I feared, my thoughts were an intense, jumbled and confused mess that I did not seem able to control.

"Fear not. We shall keep her…keep them both safe…" Emmett said lowly by my side. My scowl confirmed to him that he had once again, given voice to the thoughts in my head. "Do we wait for you on the boat?" Edward asked.

"Eh? No…I am back to Paris…three days at the most…" I reassured in answer to his unasked concerned question.

"Please good sir…"

How had I not noticed Esme dismount and come and stand by the side of the cart. Because of it's height, she was forced to look up at me, giving me an unrestricted view of her swan like neck.

"Please, I beg of you…there must be a way for my father and I to express our gratitude to the Golden Lion." She pleaded looking between Edward and I.

"Be content My Lady. The Golden Lion has heard your declaration." Edward said a smile twitching his lips. Esme looked between us in disbelief. Edward nodded his head towards me. However instead of being disbelieving of the fact that the ugly, dirty hunch back before her was her savior, a look of peace came to her face. As if a fact she had always known had been confirmed. But when she then took my dirty, rough hand in hers and placed her lips against it, it was my turn to be confirmed of a fact. I would face any adversary, give my life a thousand times, to ensure the continued safety and happiness of the woman before me.

**AN; So there you go. I know it is very different, but I would love it if you gave it a try. I shall be mixing the framework of both the Scarlett Pimpernel Book and film .**


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